Edith -- Unnamed Painted World

Amy crawled over to the arts and crafts corner. It had a knee-high table and a bunch of beanbag chairs. There were watercolors and acrylics, a bucket full of crayons, playdoh, and all the paper anyone could ask for.

Sitting alone there was a lone woman.

She looked around the same age as Amy. Her hair, dyed different colors, was tied in a pair of pigtails. She was svelt, dressed in a long-sleeved shirt in rainbow stripes. In place of pants, she was in denim overals marked in splotches of paint. Between her legs were snaps that would open up for easy changing.

"Hey Edie. What'cha up to? Anything good?" Amy asked.

Edith gave her a light smile, a mixture of polite acknowledgement and irritation from her distraction.

"Mum-mum-mum-mum," Edith muttering to herself before taking the paper she was doodling on and showing it to Amy.

It was a very, very detailed recreation of the room in front of her. It even had other students in the middle of their activities, the various toys on the floor, even one of the caretakers, Miss Marie, rocking a diapered twenty-something year old boy in the rocking chair over by the changing table. The piece would have been museum-worthy if it wasn't done in Crayola crayon.

"Wow, that's really good," said Amy, geniunely impressed.

"Ada ba ba," babbled Edith triumphantly. "Aooab-bub-a-bo!"

Edith was what the Institute called a "high regression" case. She was diaper dependent, she wasn't able to walk, and she was incapable of talking outside of baby babble. She lost all of her literacy too, hense why her attempts at getting her point across in written form just came out as a bunch of pointless squiggles. For a while, the Institute had assumed her mind was just as regressed as her body was until they realized that she was still fully cognizant.

By deciphering her various drawings, the Institute's staff were able to make a rough estimation of her situation: she had been alone at her college's art lab before she found herself sucked inside a painting hidden in the backroom. Here she spent an unknown number of years in a world literally painted into existence before it spat her back out.